


Forty Candles

by nbarker1990



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7254292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A celebration of forty years. A treasuring of the last one. A promise of many more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty Candles

She likes to tell him that he’s handsome (studly had been one laughable adjective) and it hadn’t been until it had become a regular occurrence that he’d realized that his confidence had somehow shrunk, diminished, over the past few years. It was stupid to pretend that he hadn’t noticed the comments in the press and, worse, from fans, and apparently they’d left him with something of a soft underbelly, in more than one way.

Some people may have been spurred on to exercise, but the idea of it was all slightly embarrassing. He didn’t mind shooting a few hoops but _working out_ was just a bit… Well, he hadn’t wanted to, that’s all. Instead, he’d embraced the weight, worn it as a badge of (lazy-assed) honor, choosing to make the jokes himself.

He gets compliments now – spearheaded by his girlfriend - and it’s not any more comfortable than the veiled insults, in truth. Instead of shame, however, the discomfort is accompanied by a small measure of pride. He and Gwen are enough of a mismatched couple (she being about fifty leagues ahead of him in every way) without him having a beer gut hanging out over his belt all the time. The best thing, though, is that she probably wouldn’t mind even if he did. One of the first things he’d learned about her while doing The Voice together was that she was genuinely, mind-blowingly, supportive. To everyone. There are always expectations when you’re about to meet an insanely famous person, as hard as you try not to, and she’d blown all of his to smithereens within days.

Take this afternoon, for example. Never in his wildest imagination could he have conjured up the image that is his reality right now. She’s in her camo pants and a black tank (and he’s half-wondering when the novelty will wear off and she’ll start wearing jeans or something else that doesn’t scream adopting-the-boyfriend’s-interests) and literally skipping beside him, occasionally yanking his hand when he demurs and chooses to walk sedately instead. It ought to be ridiculous, a woman of forty-six actually wanting to _frolic_ in a field, but he finds it endearing instead. Then again, he finds nearly everything she does endearing. Todd likes to tease him about being whipped, and maybe he is. And maybe he likes it.  

 

“Oh, c’monnnnn, Blake,” she urges, once again tugging at his hand and bumping into him for good measure. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

He huffs out a short laugh and decides to stop her whining with a kiss. Gwen’s never loved by halves and luckily that applies to him as well. Her arms come up around his neck, fingers curling into his hair with more force than is probably necessary. Which he loves.

“Mmm, love you,” she says on a breath as their lips part, and it’s so natural now, so instinctual. Blake says it back and there’s not even a flicker of surprise in her gorgeous eyes and that’s the best gift he could ask for – her acceptance of his love, the way she can relax and be sure of it, secure in it. He still remembers the first time the words spilled out, unbidden and unable to be taken back. He’d been waiting, aware that it was too soon, too much, too everything, but then she’d caught sight of some old family photographs and started crying into his shoulder, heartrending sobs that came from a place he didn’t ever want to go. Amongst the “It’ll be okay”s, the “Let it out”s and “He didn’t deserve you”s, he’d whispered, “I love you.” She hadn’t believed him. 

“We gotta keep walking,” he says to her, giving her a quick pat on the ass before taking her hand in his. “The trees start clearing a bit soon and there’s this perfect view, and god, Gwen, you need to see it.”

“Got my perfect view right here,” she replies coyly, turning so she’s standing chest to chest with him, one arm coming around his waist and her fingers hooking into his belt. He’d never been particularly fussy about a woman’s body – if she had legs, boobs and was naked, he was happy. Recently he’s discovered how _her_ body is the best. She’s lithe and athletic and maybe she’s not as curvy as his exes but his hands rest on her hips so perfectly, and his mouth fits hers so perfectly. “You’re happy, right?” she asks and there’s still a hesitance, an uncertainty in her words, that makes him want him to punch her ex-husband in the face about five dozen times for making her doubt herself.

“I am _so_ happy, Gwen. I don’t remember feeling happier than I am right now.” He traces the small worry lines on her face, willing them away. Her eyes aren’t still, searching for something in his, and he tries to communicate the truth of his words. “Trust me.”

She nods (I do) without a moment of hesitation, and his heart swells with pride.

 

“C’mon then, let’s see this freakin’ sunset aready.” They walk side by side in silence for another ten minutes and it’s beautiful, knowing that this woman is his, that he’s hers. There’s a quiet confidence in their relationship that’s sprung up recently, something they haven’t really acknowledged directly but know all the same. ‘Just you wait for your fiftieth,’ she’d said to him casually last night on their way to Colorado, teasing and unaware of the way his heart had stopped at her words. Blake knows this isn’t just a casual relationship for her, that she doesn’t plan on breaking up with him anytime soon, but the idea that she’ll still be here in ten years? He’d almost choked on his just-as-casual answer: ‘We’ll need a bigger plane. I’m holding out for a piñata.’

They finally come to a stop in the middle of the leaf-strewn path. There are no markers here, nothing that says ‘this is special’, but it is all the same. The sun is making its way down, the pinks and purples and blues in the sky coming together in a picture-perfect way. She takes a quick snap and shrugs when he raises an eyebrow, kisses his bicep when he rolls his eyes.

“Gonna share that one?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Okay with you?”

“It would be prettier if your face was in it…” he hints, relishing the way she bursts into laughter at his response.

“Not gonna happen, buddy.” She shows him the caption before she sends it, a simple ‘us’, and he suddenly finds himself welling up, a tear or two which he doesn’t let escape. Next time they come here, he’s bringing a ring and he doesn’t give a fuck that this’ll be the third time, that they haven’t even been dating for a year. He knows, dammit, he knows. This is it. This is _her_.

 

They watch as the sky darkens, and then it’s time to go home. When they’re a few hundred meters from the front door, she suddenly lets go of his hand and before he has the chance to protest (because he doesn’t want her to ever let go), she’s jumping onto his back, her arms tight around his neck and her legs around his waist.

“You wanted a cowgirl. Let me ride.”

And so he shifts her so she’s more comfortable (and yeah, he cops a feel in the process because hey, why not), and they make their way into the house. He lets her down when they reach his (their?) bedroom, and she immediately reaches for the buttons on his shirt.

“I’ve waited long enough,” she tells his chest as she smiles contentedly. Blissfully, he likes to think. She has this weird obsession with the hair curling there, seems to find it amusing that he’s even grayer there than he is everywhere else. “Next time we’re just fucking by the river and to hell with your prudishness.”

“My prudishness?” he scoffs, pulling her tank top over her head and quickly unclasping her bra. “You’re the one who said a neighbor might see us. A neighbor, Gwen…”

“Well, you never know…”

“I know that you’re taking way too long to get naked is what I know.”

 

He tosses her on the bed, hovers over her with one hand resting on the bed beside her and the other on her bared stomach. She’s so damned hot, and he enjoys the way her chest rises and falls as he starts to make himself comfortable, his tongue licking at that overly sensitive spot in the dip of her collarbone. Gwen shivers and he palms one of her breasts, enjoying the way her hips tilt up to meet hers the moment his fingers tweak her nipple.

“God, Gwen…”

He’s managed to kick his pants down to the bottom of the bed and the moment he feels her small hand on his cock, his fingers confidently gripping him, stroking him, he’s lost. The first time they’d been together, she’d been almost tentative. Curious, too. It had been a long time since either of them had been with another partner and it had made for an experience that was both thrilling but also a little awkward. They know each other now, completely. He knows that she enjoys watching him masturbate, and she’s aware of the way he occasionally likes being tied up by her. He also knows –

“What the fu – “ he groans, gritting his teeth as her other hand starts fondling his balls. She’s cocky now, he can see it in her eyes, and he’d laugh if he weren’t so ridiculously turned on, if he didn’t need to be in her about five minutes ago.

He shoves her hand away, shifts down the bed so he can worship her. She’s ridiculously wet already, and the moment he’s touching her, softly, gently, she’s cursing him. “Blake, oh my god, you are not doing this tonight. Please. Just make me come already.”

“Patience, sweetheart, patience” he says, his tongue making a quick pass over her clit between each word.

She bites his shoulder. Hard.

He could tease her all day but honestly, his cock is so hard right now and she wants him and they’ll have plenty of time for romance and whispering sweet nothings later on. They intend to spend at least three days in Tish and he plans on spending at least eighty percent of that time naked.

 

“Oh fuck, finally,” she moans loudly when he finally gives in, rolling them over so she can be on top. He loves watching the way she rides him, and he knows she’ll want this, tonight of all nights. She lowers herself onto him, closes her eyes and takes in a shuddering breath the moment he’s fully sheathed in her. Experimentally, he thrusts just the once, none-too-gently. When he looks up at her, she’s glaring at him. “Touch me. Now.”

Her nimble fingers join his on her clit and god, he’s not going to last much longer if she keeps grinding down on him like this. No mercy. People underestimate her in so many ways, he’s often thought. They see how she is onstage and think she’s all sexual energy and fierceness; they miss her softness, generosity, and vulnerability. Or they see how she is with the people she loves and assume she’s maybe a little meek, even submissive; they miss the way she has him wrapped around her little finger.

Feeling her come apart around him, hearing the way she screams his name, the sight of her flushed face aglow, is a pleasure he would probably die for. He lets himself go too then, pulls her head down and mashes their mouths together for a messy and almost unsatisfying kiss as he comes inside her.

 

They lay like that a long while afterward, his dick soft inside her, the stickiness and sweatiness and smell of sex surrounding them. Eventually, she gives him a self-satisfied smile (and he knows he looks pretty damned smug too) and, after they’ve cleaned themselves up, she curls up against his side, her small body perfectly molding itself to his.

“Gwen…” he whispers, hearing her breathing start to change, needing her to know this one thing before they go to sleep.

“Mmmm? What’s up, babe?”

“I love you,” he says. She tweaks his nose at that, her own crinkling adorably.

“I know.”

“You don’t know how much, though,” he continues, kissing his way down her neck, nuzzling into her cool skin. “I want people to know.”

“To know?”

“How much.”

She looks adorably confused at that and maybe it’s because she’s worn out or maybe it’s just because he is kinda being confusing as fuck.

He reaches for his phone, gives it to her, and points to Twitter. “Check the drafts.”

“Oh.” She re-reads it. And then repeats it out loud like maybe that makes it more real. And maybe it does. “She is my love. For all time.”

“I thought about adding a cheesy emoji but decided against it.”

Her hug is so sudden and so tight that he thinks the air leaves his chest for a second. It sure feels like it.

“Check the date,” he says, pulling her slightly shaky hands away from his face, kissing them gently.

“But that was - ”

“I was so _sure_ , Gwen. I know things haven’t always been as smooth as people assume. I know you’re probably not ready for a ring but I want you to have my vows.”

 

Her kiss is full of faith and hope, and her murmured words of love are a promise.


End file.
